


A Grand Day Out

by Anyawen



Series: beekeeper q [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest 2020, Bees, Daydrinking, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Or not, glorious day in the park, pimm's cup, q is frustrated, team00
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25448497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen
Summary: All Q wants is a quiet drink in the park on his day off.
Relationships: Pre-00Q - Relationship
Series: beekeeper q [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810954
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	A Grand Day Out

**Author's Note:**

> Fills 2020 007 fest trope table prompts ‘ex-military q’ and ‘free space' (secret tattoo), the 2017 anon prompt ‘Q has a recipe for the perfect Pimms Cup and a day off in the summer. Time for the short pants and socks with sandals and daydrinking in the park,’ and provides a rare pair in Tanner/Molly.
> 
> For about a heartbeat it was titled 'Perfect Cup' ...

It was his first day off in weeks, and it was a bloody gorgeous day. Q was determined to make the most of it, and refused to let anything short of a nuclear threat interrupt his plans.

006 clearly hadn’t gotten the memo, breaking off from his run through Regent’s Park to tease Q about his fashion choice.

Q dressed for comfort, thank you very much. He thumbed his nose at the fashion gods on a daily basis at work, conforming to the barest level of ‘business casual’ attire, and insuring that the clothes he wore were comfortable, well-made, and understatedly obnoxious. And sometimes, not that understatedly.

At any rate, he was hardly going to be more fashion conscious on his rare day off. Dressed in shorts and an old band tee shirt, wearing socks and sandals, as he strolled the park looking for a spot to sit and enjoy the day - and his drink - he was hardly going to be meeting up with the Joint Security Services Chairman.

And even if he did, he wasn’t sharing.

It was summer, it was a lovely day, and he was out of the tunnels of Q-branch to enjoy it.

After he’d threatened to send 006 out with a toothpick and a chihuahua for his next mission and sent the man on his way, Q decided that while he was unlikely to find a truly quiet spot on such a beautiful day, perhaps he’d have better luck -or at least fewer interruptions by MI6 agents- elsewhere. Packing up his blanket and basket he made his way to Great Portland Street station and caught a westbound Circle line train.

He exited the train only two stops later at Paddington station. Making his way to the surface he walked down the streets toward Hyde Park. He breathed a relieved sigh when he crossed the street and entered the park.

He strolled across the open grassy spaces between large, shady trees, dodging tourists and Londoners all out enjoying the day. He dodged flying frisbees and maneuvered around small groups kicking a football around, keeping an eye out for a likely spot to sit and savor the snacks and drinks he’d brought along.

There! The perfect spot! A patch of shade under a large tree, thick with grass, slightly sloped …

And claimed before he could reach it.

He continued his hunt.

He was halfway across the park when he caught sight of Tanner and his wife strolling one of the paths, hand linked, leaning into one another, and laughing.

He liked Tanner, and liked his wife, Molly. He appreciated her awkwardness, and her bad sense of timing, and her often inappropriate humor. He always enjoyed spending time with her hanging about the edges of gatherings, and considered both Molly and Tanner —Bill— friends.

But this was his day off. He had plans to spend time lounging in the sun with nibbles and drinks, enjoying the silence.

He changed his trajectory, angling his path to cut across the park, away from Bill and Molly. 

Perhaps, he thought, he’d have better luck in the adjacent Green Park.

He didn’t.

Noon came and went, and Q was frustrated, feeling that his morning had been wasted as he wandered from park to park, looking for a place to enjoy the day. Standing in the crowds in Green Park, he had a thought.

It was quiet, and access was restricted. It wasn’t a park, but thanks to Tanner’s green thumb, there was a garden. And comfortable chairs. And the bees wouldn’t mind the company.

He made his way to Green Park station, and caught the Piccadilly line east, changing trains one stop later to a southbound Bakerloo train to Charing Cross station. From there, he made his way through various back alleys to a hidden entrance to the MI6 headquarters. He pulled up an alias with the necessary clearances on his phone to gain entrance, and went straight to the cargo lifts, punching the button for the roof as the doors slid closed.

When the doors slid open, Q made his way to the rooftop garden Tanner had started there, and the pair of chairs that had appeared in the shade of a trellis covered with honeysuckle.

One of the chairs was occupied.

Q sighed, but having made it this far, and with the day now well into the afternoon, he wasn’t going to keep hunting for a spot to relax and have a drink. Besides, where Tanner and Molly would have wanted to chat, Q knew that Bond —his erstwhile rooftop companion— would be content to sit in silence.

In point of fact, Bond only glanced up at him and gave him a nod and a half smile in greeting as Q took the second chair, shifting it slightly to take better advantage of the shade of the trellis.

Q put his picnic blanket on the ground and set his basket on top of it. By now the ice must be greatly reduced in quantity, but with luck, a small amount would remain, and his snacks and the drink components would still be cool. At this point, Q didn’t care whether his drink was icy cold or lukewarm. He was going to make it and sit here among the flowers on the roof of MI6, listening to his bees buzz around him while he had a drink in the middle of a glorious afternoon.

With Bond for company.

Bond said nothing as Q pulled out his gear. He raised an eyebrow at the sturdy kitchen knife, and smiled at the cocktail shaker, but didn’t say a word.

Q sliced a cucumber, munching on a slice while he muddled others in the bottom of the shaker, then added a generous amount of Pimms, and a bit of lemon juice, a sprinkle of sugar, and half of what ice remained. He shook it vigorously, then let it sit while he pulled out a single glass and added the rest of the ice, sprigs of rosemary, thyme, and mint, a pair of sliced strawberries, and a sliver of lemon peel. He poured in the Pimm’s mixture, and topped it off with ginger beer and a cucumber garnish, ignoring Bond’s amused expression.

Sitting back in the chair, eating strawberries and cucumber slices, Q sipped at his drink, enjoying the sun, and the silent company.

After a moment, he extended the hand holding the drink in Bond’s direction. The agent accepted it, and hummed his appreciation as he sipped from the glass, before handing it back.

They shared it, and the next one —made with the last of the ice— without speaking. Q couldn’t remember when he’d spent a more pleasant afternoon.

He was surprised when Bond handed the nearly empty glass back to him and leaned forward in his seat to run a finger down Q’s right leg, from his knee to the top of his sock. And then he pushed the sock down.

Bond didn’t ask about the swallow tattooed on Q’s calf, he only sat back and looked at him, eyebrows raised in inquiry.

Q rolled his eyes and slid the sock on his left leg down, exposing a second tattoo. 

“I got the first one in 2002, when I was assigned to the HMS Ark Royal. Deployed to Iraq in 2003, finished my tour in 2005. Over ten thousand nautical miles, all told. I earned them.”

“I didn’t doubt it,” Bond replied, “I was just surprised that MI6 let you keep them.”

“I’m not out in the field, where identifying marks are somewhat counterproductive to successfully pulling off a created identity,” Q responded, eyeing Bond thoughtfully. “You had to have yours removed?”

Bond hummed an affirmative.

“What was it?”

“A compass rose, with a poppy and a swallow,” Bond answered.

“Oh. Where?”

“Left shoulder blade,” Bond replied. “I wasn’t unhappy to have it removed.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“Oh, no, I did. But I could hardly miss something I couldn’t see.”

“Perhaps one day you’ll get another one somewhere you can appreciate it.”

“Perhaps. Until then, I’ll admire yours.”

“Which one?”

“You have others?”

“Several,” Q replied.

He didn’t miss the way Bond’s expression lit up, even as his eyes darkened. He rolled his eyes and bent to tug his socks back into place. When he sat back up, Bond was smiling at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Dinner. Come on. I know a little place that serves fantastic dal. Outdoor seating. Good beer selection. Join me?”

It had been a lovely afternoon, and Q knew that it might be a marvelous evening. He smiled.

“Another time, Bond.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Q packed up his basket and blanket, and rather hoped that Bond would.


End file.
